


Looking At Your Leaving

by lady_blackwell



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:04:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_blackwell/pseuds/lady_blackwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill begins to "see" Laura after he begins building their cabin on New Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking At Your Leaving

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ubiquitousmixie.

The first time he sees it, he thinks it’s a trick of the light from the way the sun hits the woodpile and Laura’s grave at a certain time of day, but as he turns around out of the corner of his eye he swears he can see Laura’s hair in all its glory, like on New Caprica, and his heart gives a painful twinge. It’s not just her hair he sees, but a smile gracing her face as she looks at her cabin – which is slowly coming together.

He chides himself silently; _you need to find yourself some company old man_ , and gets back to work.

* * *

The second time it happens, he’s in that space between sleep and wakefulness, and he swears he can feel Laura’s weight on his chest, feel her hair tickling him as she breathes in and out peacefully. Her hand lightly strokes his arm, teasing him to wakefulness with random kisses peppered across his chest.

He knows – thinks – it’s a dream, but as he grips her tighter he swears that it’s real, she’s real, feels the warmth of her skin under his hands and the ends of her hair tickling him as she shifts upwards to kiss his neck, his jaw (like she used to when she wanted morning sex), lazily grinding her wetness against his thigh. He instinctively reaches down to cup her ass as she playfully tugs at his earlobe with her teeth, whispers softly in his ear:

“Wake up, Bill.”

He does, and he’s alone.

* * *

The third time he sees it (only it’s not an it now, it’s her, he knows it’s her), it’s when he’s just returned from a water supply run. He enters the cabin, thinking that he’ll restart _Searider Falcon_ , or maybe _Blood Runs at Midnight_ , because it’s been too long since he’s actually read something (before her death, he knows this), but what happens afterwards takes his mind off of his newest dust-collectors.

“Let me get that for you,” he hears, and he whips around, nearly dropping the water bucket; but she catches it before it spills all over the floor, and she’s holding his water, and she’s here, _Laura’s here_ , with him, in the cabin, but she can’t be, because she’s in the grave right outside the cabin, she’s dead, she can’t be here.

He collapses back onto the couch, does nothing but stare at her as she places the water on the table and turns around. She giggles softly at the slack-jawed look on his face, wanders over to sit on the table in front of him. He drinks in the sight of her, her hair is back, long and flowy, dressed in the same red dress she wore on Founder’s Day, her bracelet on her wrist, his ring still on her finger. She stares back silently, finally opening her mouth to say, “You could at least pick your jaw off the floor and say something.”

“Are you real?” Bill finally chokes out, afraid of the answer she’ll give, if she says either yes or no it’ll prove that he’s truly going insane, a lovesick man who just can’t let go of a woman who’s dead and gone.

She smiles back that cat-like smirk of hers, the one she gives – gave – him when she was silently calling him out on his bullshit or when she was teasing him; _I know something you don’t know_.

“I’m as real as you think I am.”

* * *

It becomes a pattern then, these visions of hallucinations or whatever they are of Laura appearing and disappearing when he’s around, but she’s slowly become the one constant in his life, and Bill sure as hell doesn’t want to let go what remains of his sanity (because his sanity has always been intertwined with Laura’s existence, he knows that now).

Laura tends to come and go as she pleases (the same in death as she was in life, he notes), but most of the time she’s there when he needs her most; kissing his cheek as he eats his meals in silence; curling up on the couch with him as he reads his books (out loud, like he always did), walking next to him and holding his hand while he explores as much of the planet as he can before his old body wears out. Her presence is always comforting, and when she vanishes it’s as if he’s lost a limb, because he’s become that dependent on her continued presence in his life.

Still, there’s one subject they haven’t broached yet. Sure, Bill understands why she wouldn’t want to talk about exactly how she’s able to go between here and The Shore, or why she would choose to stay with him, an broken shell of a man, over the friends and family she had gone before her. Not that he minded (it was better than spending his days alone), but he’s just too curious for his own frakking good.

It accidentally comes out one night when they’re in bed together, Laura curled against his chest in a post-coital haze, him peppering random kisses in her hair.

“Why do you come here, Laura?” he asks before he realizes the words have fallen out of his mouth. Her nails tighten painfully against his chest, nearly breaking the skin and causing him to hiss. He rambles, like an idiot, continuing; “I don’t deserve for you to come keep coming here. You need to be at peace. I’ve accepted that you’re gone; you don’t need to come back.”

Laura abruptly gets out of bed, causing him to whine at the loss of her warmth, and glares at him. “Well, maybe I don’t give a frak that you’ve accepted that I’m dead,” and stomps out of the room.

She doesn’t show up for a week after that. When she does, she just takes him into her arms and murmurs “Never think you don’t deserve me ever again.”

It’s another promise he knows he’s going to keep – he could never say no to her, the same in death as in life.

* * *

Bill groans as he gets up from the table, shaking off Laura’s offer to help as he goes to rinse off his hands in the water bucket before painfully collapsing on the couch. If there’s one thing he’s hates about getting older, it’s how it’s severely limited his mobility. _No more barrel runs for you, old man_ , he thinks to himself, then grasps his chest as the brief chuckle causes him pain.

The thump of his heart is growing slower and heavier in his chest, the white of his hair stands out more, the ache in his back becomes more prominent every time he tries to stand up and do something. Nevertheless, Laura is still there, just as beautiful as she was before she died (when was that – months, years ago?), helping, soothing healing. She can’t heal this pain, he knows this, his craggy old heart slowly giving into the wound it received all that time ago. He gets up, grunts something about taking a nap, and shuffles his way to the bedroom. Laura sits on the bed next to him (how did she get there so quickly), and takes his hand in hers, murmuring soothing words as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“Sleep, Bill. Just sleep.”

* * *

When he wakes up, he’s in a house – a real house, not the ramshackle cabin he built, but in real house and in a soft, warm bed. There’s a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace that’s against the wall, a familiar scent on the pillow next to his causing him to leap out of bed with a near-youthful vigour and race towards the door.

He pulls it open and she’s there, Laura’s there, wrapped in a blanket and little else, standing on her tiptoes to reach a book on a high shelf, hair glowing in the dim light. She’s so beautiful, and this cabin is so perfect and her, them, and he can’t believe that it’s taken him this long to get to The Shore so they can enjoy it together.

Laura grabs the book and whips around, surprise and joy in her eyes as she sees him and runs into his arms. “It’s about time you got here!” she exclaims, running into his open arms and greeting him with a kiss. “I can’t wait to show you the lake, Bill. It’s just like the one on New Caprica, with water so clear it’s like looking through glass. And I’ve had several interesting chats with your Tsattie and Zak; why didn’t you tell me that you were –“

He cuts her off with a hand on her chest, still afraid that this is some sort of hallucination or vision or worse, and the words tumble out of his mouth in a jumbled rush. “You’re never leaving me again?”

She smiles.

“There’s no such thing as ‘leaving’ here, Bill.”

He smiles back.

 _I’m home_.


End file.
